I'm Just Your Problem
by Alexishy Reignbeaux Dance
Summary: America and Canada get into a fight, with unexpected results. Rated T because I can. Beta-ed by NightimeNightmare. All remaining mistakes are because I don't always listen to her.


"Hey, Canadia!"

Canada walks just a bit faster, as if he can't hear America calling him. At least, he assumes it's him being called; America should at least have the decency to get his name right after all these years. Then again, if America had any kind of decency, Canada wouldn't be trying to avoid him. He prayed that he would just blend into the crowd like he always does.

But, of course, America isn't willing to give up that easily, and soon they're walking side-by-side. Canada keeps scooting away, trying to protect his personal space, but America doesn't seem to notice and leans closer. Typically. Canada feels a familiar rage boil just beneath his skin, rage that always appears when he's with America.

"Hey!" the American laughs obnoxiously. "I noticed you didn't take a stand on my proposal."

Oh yeah, America's proposal of deployable, solar-powered structures in space. Canada hadn't elected to support it or not, mumbling something about talking to his boss about it. Not that anyone heard him; in fact, he's extremely surprised that America actually noticed that he hadn't contributed to the argument.

"Yeah," Canada responds cautiously. "I need to talk to my boss about it before I do anything."

"Dude, that seems kind of backwards, but whatever. What did you think about it?"

Is he asking for his personal opinion? Oh, this is going to be a problem. No matter how much America tests his patience, the last thing Canada wants to do is offend him. "I – I don't know, America. I mean, it seems pretty far-fetched."

Canada cringes, waiting for America to overreact, like always, but he only hesitates a beat before laughing loudly again. "Of course it does, dude! You're not exactly known for your space program!"

Canada struggles to find a response before remembering some statistics that Japan had presented at the last world conference. "That doesn't make a difference. I'm ranked pretty high as far as math and science go, so I still understood everything. I just don't think your idea is feasible."

"Yeah, well," America falters, "So am I, and I say that it is possible, so there."

Instead of defining feasible and possible like he wants to, Canada allows himself to be a little frank. "Actually, no you aren't," he corrects, not terribly unkindly. "You're not even in the top fifteen for either. And your space program isn't that great any more either."

America stops, as if he can't walk and process this information at the same time. The thought makes Canada giggle softly, and America glares at him, probably assuming Canada is laughing at him.

"Fine, I don't need your help!" he shouts, and Canada is thankful that most of the others have already left. "I only asked because I thought you might want to get involved!"

"Who would?" Canada snaps back, letting his anger speak for itself. It's something that he's never done before, and it scares him a little, but it's also a little exhilarating. "You know, I'm not automatically your yes man just because we're related." He means geographically, politically, socially. They are by no means blood related. He doesn't think any Nations are. Then again, no one really knows where Nations come from.

"God, you're such a stick in the mud!" And Canada thinks he hears America mutter, "And a dumbass too."

"Excuse me?" he asks incredulously. He knows that this is just how America copes with things he doesn't like, but he can't help but be enraged.

"You're impractical! What's the point in anything if you don't take a little risk?"

"I'm impractical? I'm not the one who always discredits these conferences with my brainless schemes!"

"I am not – "

"You are! America, you behave like a colony, and no one's going to take you seriously until you start acting like a fully grown Nation!"

America looks like Canada just slapped him, and he immediately begins to regret this entire argument. That doesn't mean that he believes anything he said to be false; he just regrets saying it.

"You sound just like him," America says softly, more in realisation and awe than offence.

There are many "hims" that America could be talking about, but it doesn't take much to figure out which one he means. Canada's face sets in an unchangeable expression of apathy, and he knows that, for the first time in a long, long time, they will both show their true colours tonight, without façade and rehearsed reactions. Canada is eager to know how the wild blonde boy with a gap in his smile turned out.

"What did you say?"

"You sound just like he did, same tone and everything." And America almost looks like he's going to cry, but Canada knows he won't.

"You don't mean that," he accuses, and he knows it to be true because America hates England for that day, for that conversation that led to the destruction of their entire relationship. Canada wonders if this conversation will have a similar effect.

"You're right. At least England supported me to some extent."

"You can't point your finger at me without pointing three at yourself." For once, America looks at a loss for words. They are no longer shouting, no longer glaring and insulting recklessly. They are full of silent fury, and their cuts are deeper, replies more thought out. Because this is how Nations behave behind closed doors, when they aren't put in the world's spotlight. They behave like immortals: Nothing to gain, nothing to loose, and nothing in the world to make them care either way.

America stands closer, and for the first time, Canada notices that he is just a tiny bit taller than his southern brother. They stare at each other in silence, nothing needing to be said. Canada tries to calculate what America will do – hit him like he probably deserves or throw another insult that will probably backfire? – but he does neither. Without preamble, America leans forward the last few centimetres and gently rests his lips against Canada's, and the latter can't be sure if it's a kiss or not, but before he can figure it out, America has stepped back again.

"You've changed a lot," America mutters, and it is neither a compliment nor an insult, just a stated fact.

"So have you."

"We used to be so close. When did that stop?"

"When we started keeping secrets from each other."

Canada let America think that over for only a few moments before giving him a real kiss and meaning every second of it.


End file.
